Those Sweet Words
by ladycobert
Summary: "Be My (Cobert) Valentine" Exchange: Robert whisks a nervous Cora off to London for the holiday, leaving six month old Mary with her grandparents. Word: Fortune.


Mid-February, 1893

Robert lowered his eyes from where he'd been watching Cora feed baby Mary from a bottle. He coughed, clearing his throat, and wrung his hands a trifle. "Cora? Might I suggest something?"

Half-listening, distracted by observing the baby's drooping eyelids and lips pursed around the bottle, Cora let out a little "hmmm?" and continued smiling down at the feeding bundle in her arms.

Glancing up again, Robert stood and went to the window, looking out into the black of night. "I thought we might go into London for a few days. To the Cavendish." He turned back toward her, hands clasped behind him nervously.

"With the baby?" She raised her head with a furrowed brow.

He sighed and walked to her chair, kneeling down in front of her and gazing into her face. "No, darling. Without the baby. I thought we could go as a kind of Valentine's Day gift for ourselves. You know how much Valentine's Day means to me – to us."

"But, Robert, what about Mary?" Cora's expression contained a trace of what Robert thought might be fear.

Resting a hand on her knee, he shook his head. "Cora, I love Mary. Very much. But she is over six months old. And she's completely weaned. She has a nanny who knows how to take care of her, and two grandparents – who I am sure will make certain she is fine." He paused and took a deep breath, his face softening into a pleading look. "Please, Cora, we haven't been alone together properly in so long, and I want to take you away for a few days. It's just a few days, sweetheart, and I think it will be good for us."

Cora's eyes moved several times between Robert and the baby, pondering this proposal. Finally, she gave the tiniest of shrugs. "I suppose we could leave her in their care for a few days." Smiling at him, she added, "I do know how much Valentine's Day means to you – and to me." Placing the empty bottle down beside her, she touched his face tenderly.

He took her hand in both of his, bringing it to his lips and kissing it. Then he grinned. "I'll make the arrangements tomorrow. We should be able to leave the day after that – the day before Valentine's Day. I'm looking forward to it."

"I think I'm already starting to look forward to it as well." She beamed. Looking down at Mary, she whispered, "Robert, she's asleep. I should put her in her bed." She started to tug her hand free.

"Let me." Standing, he scooped the baby into his arms, careful not to jostle her too much for fear she'd wake.

Cora watched with a soft smile while Robert grinned down at his daughter, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then one to each of her rosy cheeks. He placed her in her crib, covering her with a blanket and brushing his fingers gently over the already thick thatch of dark hair.

"Goodnight, my little Mary. Sweet dreams."

Impetuously, heart full to the brim, Cora jumped up and wrapped her arms around her husband, kissing him on the mouth. "Let's go to bed, darling," she breathed against his lips a moment later.

"Mmmm…" Robert hummed, fluttering his lashes open to look at her with a smirk. "Yes. Let's."

* * *

Robert cleared his throat as he entered the drawing room while Cora and Mary took their mid-morning nap. This had the anticipated result of getting the attention of his parents, his mother looking up from her needlework and his father from his book.

"Son? Something the matter?" Patrick placed the marker between the pages and closed the volume, his brows drawn together.

Stepping farther into the room, Robert shook his head. "No – at least – well, I had thought I could ask the two of you for a favor?" he ended hopefully.

Patrick put the book on a table and turned toward his son, sharing a glance with his wife first. "What is it?"

"I wanted to take Cora to London for a few days – for Valentine's Day –"

"Humph," Violet interrupted, scoffing and rolling her eyes.

Lifting his eyebrows, Robert looked at his mother. "What's wrong with that?"

"Valentine's Day? It's a ridiculous holiday. I never understood why people go so mad over it. And I don't know why you would celebrate it," she answered, stabbing the cloth with her needle and glancing up at him, lips pursed.

"I have my own reasons, Mama. And I am going to take Cora to London for a few days. We haven't been away from Downton since Mary was born, and I'd like to give her a little holiday."

Patrick grinned while Violet shook her head. "So, what's this favor then?" Patrick inquired.

Robert nodded. "Mary's nanny will be more than adequate, I'm sure, but we would like to ask the two of you to care for her as well. You know – do the sorts of things Cora and I usually do – and that I know Papa sometimes does anyway: singing to her, reading to her, and taking her on walks."

The grin on Patrick's face grew wider, and he said, "Most certainly! What a pleasure!" as Violet harrumphed once more.

Shooting a glare at his mother, Robert turned to his father with gratitude. "Thank you, Papa. I will inform Cora that she can come along with no fear that Mary will be in any way neglected."

Violet's eyes followed her son from the room, then she scowled at Patrick. "Why did you agree to that?"

"Why do you care?" Patrick picked up his book again and settled back, shrugging good-naturedly. "You don't have to bother yourself if you don't want to. I, for one, look forward to spending a little more time with my granddaughter."

"Patrick, she's a baby. She won't know the difference." Fidgeting, she took up her needle again, squinting at the fine stitches she'd already placed in the cloth.

"She might not, but I will. Besides, it's not as if the estate takes up so much time during these winter months. What better – and more worthwhile – way to amuse myself than to help with Mary?"

"You always did spoil the children. Stories and letting them ride along on your back, playing games of pretend and participating in Rosamund's tea parties." She snorted derisively.

Patrick sighed. "I do apologize, Violet, for not sharing your very conventional view of child-rearing. But I adore children, and I always thought it was important that ours knew the type of acceptance that I never did with my own parents." He stood, tucking his book under this arm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to speak with Thompson about a few things."

Violet watched yet another male Crawley leave the room and sighed herself now. He'd sounded perturbed at her. "I don't see why," she muttered under her breath, giving a bit of a shrug and settling back into her needle work. She knew that he'd have forgotten his pique with her by lunchtime.

* * *

The next morning the four gathered in the foyer, a carriage waiting outside to carry Robert and Cora to the train station.

"Now, you'll send a telegram to the Cavendish right away if you need anything?" Cora's eyes were wide as she fiddled with her scarf.

Patrick nodded and smiled. "Yes, my dear. Mary will be just fine, though. Never you fear. You two simply enjoy your holiday alone together."

"But, Papa –"

Robert took her by the arm, saying, "Cora, please. Mary is in good hands. We trust the nanny, and Papa and Mama –" here he shot his mother a meaningful look – "will make sure that Mary gets all the nurturing and loving care we would give to her ourselves. The carriage is waiting, darling, and if we don't go now, we'll miss our train."

He tried to draw her away, but Cora stood rooted to the spot, an expression of slight panic frozen upon her features. "Robert, what if -?"

Violet, surprisingly, stepped forward. "Cora, there's nothing to worry about. All mothers have to go through this at some point. _Some_ later than _others_," she said pointedly, her brows raised.

Robert shook his head at his mother disapprovingly, but she merely folded her hands in front of her and waited for them to depart.

"I suppose I'm ready now, Robert." Cora kissed Patrick's cheek once more, and Robert did the same for his mother, then shook his father's hand.

"We'll see the two of you in a few days. Have a lovely Valentine's Day!" Robert tugged Cora – who couldn't seem to tear her eyes from the staircase – out the door and to the carriage while Violet rolled her eyes.

"Valentine's Day," she spat. "Ridiculous."

Patrick laughed. He knew her better than that.

* * *

"Cora, please. She'll be fine." Robert passed a hand over his forehead. The train had nearly reached Victoria, and Cora had spent almost the entirety of their trip in a state of fretfulness over leaving Mary behind.

"But, Robert –"

"Please?" He clasped her hands in his, fixing his pleading eyes on her anxious ones. "Mary is fine. Papa will make sure of it. I promise, sweetheart." Letting go of one of her hands, he cupped her face, noting her soft sigh and how her eyelids lowered. "I know you're nervous. But there's no good in being here if we can't relax and enjoy ourselves. Right?"

Cora nodded, squeezing his hand and raising her eyes to his once more. A slight smile came to her face as she nodded again. "Yes, you're right. I'll try, darling."

He traced his thumb over her cheek tenderly, his countenance reflecting her smile. "So, once we've gotten settled at the Cavendish and left Masterman and Banks to unpack, what would you like to do?"

"Could we go walking in Hyde Park? As we used to?" Her smile widened with the memories.

Robert kissed her hand. "Yes, my love. We can do that. And anything else you would like."

* * *

At the sound of the mantel clock chiming three, Violet put her book aside, stood, and stretched delicately. Then she drew her brows together. Patrick had said he'd join her in the drawing room after checking on Mary after luncheon. Placing the book down on the settee, she swept from the room and up the stairs.

The nursery door stood ajar. Pushing it open a bit more, Violet shook her head at the sight that met her. Patrick sat upon the rocking chair, Mary securely nestled in his arms, her head resting upon his chest, and her tiny fingers splayed out over his waistcoat collar. Her grandfather rocked her gently, his head lolling back and his eyes shut, a grin upon his face.

"Patrick."

Blinking his eyes open, he smiled at his wife. "Shhh, Violet," he said in a whisper. "I just got her to sleep."

"Why isn't her nanny doing that?" she inquired in a hushed tone, putting her hands upon her hips.

"Mary was fussing, so I offered to hold her. It took a while to figure out what would quiet her and lull her to slumber. But once I held her like this, she dropped off in no time. I think I've seen Robert do this as well. It must be comfortable for her, remind her of her Papa." He smiled and stroked a hand over the baby's hair. Mary let out a slight noise, her fingers flexing and straightening again in her sleep.

Violet rolled her eyes. "Have you been in here this entire time trying to get her to sleep? I thought you were coming downstairs." She kept her voice low and even, not wanting to risk a screeching infant.

"I'm sorry, Violet. Mary needed me."

She watched him drop a kiss onto the baby's head, and the utterly contented expression upon his face melted her ire. Her hands fell from her hips, and she crossed the distance between them, bending to brush her lips over his brow. "You'll be down for tea?"

Patrick smiled up at her. "Of course, darling."

And, true to his word, Patrick wandered down to the drawing room in time for tea.

"You have a number of telegrams, Patrick," Violet said as he kissed her cheek. She handed the stack to him, then went about pouring his tea.

"Goodness gracious." He opened the telegrams one after the other, perusing them with a furrowed brow. "They're all from Cora. Four of them – all inquiring about Mary."

"Your lordship?" One of the footmen approached with another telegram upon a salver.

Taking it up and reading it, Patrick remarked, "Correction: five of them." His brows lifted, and he looked at his wife, shaking his head. "Is this normal, Violet? Does she not trust us?"

Violet shrugged. "What _is_ normal for a young American mother? Drink your tea, Patrick," she said, holding out the cup.

Patrick deposited the five telegrams upon a side table and sat with his tea cup, sipping quietly. "I suppose I should send her one in return, to put her at ease. Mary's been a little treasure all afternoon."

"That would probably be prudent." Putting her own teacup in its saucer, Violet cleared her throat a bit, and began, "I wondered what you would want me to tell the cook to prepare for dinner tomorrow night. As it's just the two of us."

He looked up at her with a grunt of confusion. "It's just the two of us tonight, too. You didn't ask me that yesterday."

Violet rolled her eyes. "Never mind, Patrick. I simply thought you might want something particular for tomorrow." She shoved the cup and saucer back onto the tea tray and sighed. "Evidently your mind is still on the baby," she muttered.

"What's that all about?" he asked, jerking his head up to stare at her.

"I don't want to talk about it, Patrick," Violet said, rising and looking down her nose at him. "I'm going to rest before dinner."

Patrick let out a deep sigh as she bustled from the room, fairly radiating exasperation and stubbornness. Pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, he put down his cup and called for Thompson.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Clear these things away. Then send one of the footmen to the library in about a quarter hour. I'll have a telegram for him to take into the village." Patrick gave these orders without opening his eyes or moving his hand from his face. He needed something stronger than tea.

* * *

"Cora?" Robert knocked on the door to her room at the sound of the dressing bell. "Darling, are you still asleep? We have reservations, and Banks should be on her way up," he called through the door.

But no answer came.

Carefully, he twisted the door knob and peeked into the room. It was empty. "Cora?"

"Darling?" came a breathless voice from behind him.

Robert turned and laughed lightly. "Where'd you get off to?" He kissed her cheek as she slipped past him into the room, tugging off her gloves and throwing them onto the bed.

"Oh, I had to take care of something downstairs. I didn't want to disturb your nap." She motioned with her hands and said, "Now shoo. Didn't you say earlier that you made reservations? We don't want to be late, and our attendants will be up any moment."

A crease appeared in his brow, but he chuckled. "That's just what I was saying to you – well, had you been here."

"So, you understand the need for haste. Go on now." She giggled and moved forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then shoving her hands against his chest. "Shoo."

"Yes, my dear." He grinned and went off to his own room.

Once he'd gone, Cora extricated a telegram from her pocket, reading it once more with a sigh of relief: _Cora darling – stop – Mary very well – stop – please do not worry – stop – I will personally make sure she continues to be well – stop._

Pressing the telegram to her heart, she closed her eyes and sighed again. At the sound of Banks' knock, she thrust the paper into a drawer, biding her enter.

Another telegram sent after dinner, perhaps. _Yes,_ Cora thought. _Papa needs to know about bedtime…._

* * *

Patrick nursed his brandy and puffed at his pipe after dinner, lounging back in his chair. Dinner had been a silent one, save for his few failed attempts to get Violet to speak to him. She'd merely harrumphed and shot venomous looks his way. He couldn't think what he'd done wrong.

Apart from perhaps spending more time with Mary than with her that day.

Letting out a long, curling exhale of smoke, he drained the last of the brandy and rubbed his head. He didn't know whether lingering in the dining room would make things better – spare his wife his presence – or make them worse in keeping his company from her. Glancing at the clock, he decided he'd given her enough time to – he hoped – forget her displeasure with him. He tapped out his pipe and pocketed it in his trousers carelessly, then walked through to the library.

Violet did not so much as glance up from her book. After he'd gotten a Scotch, he sat next to her instead of sitting in his own chair. He sighed when she turned herself away from him.

"Darling, please. I don't know what I did." Patrick took a long sip of his drink. "I know I didn't come downstairs when you wanted me to, and I know I spent a lot of time with Mary today, but you knew I was going to do that."

All she did was harrumph once more, staring at the page in front of her.

"Violet…." He reached over and gently pulled the book from her hands. At this point, he wouldn't have minded if she'd shrieked at him, as long as she said _something_.

But she simply put her hands in her lap and studied them, her lips pursed in a thin line.

"Are you really just going to sit there and ignore me?" He scooted closer and rested a gentle hand on her forearm.

For several moments they sat that way, the only sound that of ice clinking in Patrick's glass as he sipped at his whiskey. Then Violet turned to him.

"I need to tell the cook what to make for our dinner tomorrow night."

Patrick drew his brows together in complete consternation. "Is that what all this is about?"

Violet squared her jaw, not answering. But her eyes moved from his face to somewhere beside him.

"Dearest, I will be happy with whatever you decide is best. Your culinary taste is impeccable." He grinned.

Unexpectedly, Violet rolled her eyes and rose from the settee. "I'm going to bed. There is smoke coming from your trousers, Patrick. I thought you should know."

As she exited the room, Patrick jumped up, patting his pocket where he'd put his pipe. Apparently he hadn't tapped it out as well as he'd thought.

* * *

"Cora, why are you fidgeting so much?" Robert drew away from her. He'd been endeavoring to be affectionate with her on this carriage ride home from the restaurant, but she couldn't seem to concentrate.

"Can't the carriage go faster?"

"Why should it? We have the rest of the evening." He toyed with the ringlet of hair that rested against her neck, beginning to smirk.

"I – I need to send a telegram to Downton."

"Why?"

"I have to make sure that Papa knows the bedtime routine."

Robert sighed, putting his other hand on her knee and pressing it reassuringly through her skirts. "You went over it with him twice, Cora. And Nanny knows it as well. Surely you don't need to send a telegram."

"But Robert, what if they forget her bath?"

"They won't forget her bath. Nanny does that every night."

"What if Papa doesn't read to her from the fairy tale book like you do?"

"Then she simply won't have her story tonight. But he'll remember. He used to read to Rosamund and me every night. So he knows."

"Robert," she said, evidence of tears in her voice, "I won't be there to sing to her as she goes to sleep."

His hand moved from her knee to her face, caressing it. "Sweetheart, I know you miss her. I do too. But the nanny and Papa – and Mama too, in her own way – will make sure she is taken care of, happy. Now, please, let me take care of you, see to _your_ happiness. You've been running ragged for months, being a most excellent mother to our baby daughter. You deserve some true rest – and a bit of fun." He touched his forehead to her temple, his arm stealing around her shoulders and pulling her closer.

Cora heaved a prolonged sigh, then nodded slowly, closing her eyes. "I know. And I did promise I'd try, didn't I?"

"You did. Now, we've arrived, and I'm going to have a bottle of champagne sent up to our room." He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Then we are going to have a wonderful evening to ourselves, free of care. How does that sound, my love?"

She smiled. "It sounds perfect, Robert."

* * *

Mary having been fed and washed and dressed for bed, Patrick dismissed the nanny and cradled his granddaughter in one arm, holding the fairy tale book in the other hand and reading to her animatedly.

Flicking a page over, Patrick looked down at Mary's smiling face and grinned. "You like this story, don't you, little darling?"

At the little cooing noise she made, as if in answer, Patrick chuckled and continued the story, using different voices for the characters like he always used to do for Rosamund. And when he finished the tale, he closed the book gently and glanced at the baby who, at that moment, let out a yawn, her small pink mouth disclosing one tiny white tooth.

"I think it's time someone went to bed. It's really far too late for you to still be awake. Just think how your mother will berate me when she finds out." He laughed lightly, observing Mary blinking, fighting sleep. "Come now, little darling," he said, rocking her in the chair and gliding one finger over her cheeks. "I know. Your mama sings."

Patrick shifted the baby around again, laying her head against his chest as he'd done that afternoon to get her to nap, while he searched his memory for a suitable lullaby.

His brow cleared, and he spoke to Mary softly, saying, "Now, this isn't a lullaby, sweetheart, but I know your papa likes to sing it to your mama sometimes. So you might know it. And I hope you'll forgive my voice for being far less melodious than Mama's." Then he began to sing.

Violet had given up waiting for Patrick, and, not finding him in his room, slipped on her bedroom shoes and crept down the hall toward Mary's nursery, thinking surely he must be there. At the sound of his singing voice floating out into the corridor from the half open nursery door, Violet paused, listening.

"Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song, list while I woo thee with soft melody; gone are the cares of life's busy throng, beautiful dreamer, awake unto me! Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me…."

As he went into the second verse, Violet allowed herself to smile, remembering how he would secretly sing to their own children at night, after he'd read them a story or two. Wrapping her arms around herself in a hug, she went back toward her own room to wait for him, knowing he'd be along after he'd put Mary in her cot. And knowing he'd remember eventually that, although she outwardly mocked Valentine's Day, she'd be hurt if he didn't acknowledge somehow, mark somehow, that they were, and always would be, sweethearts.

* * *

Once he'd tucked the baby in and let the nanny – who looked rather worn to a frazzle, truth be told – know he was leaving Mary in her charge again, Patrick went to his room and pulled the cord for his valet. He sat heavily upon the bed, his head in his hands.

Then he noticed something.

A dim line of light shone under the bottom of the door. That in and of itself wasn't unusual. Even during the various times he'd utterly put himself on the outs with his wife, Violet might stay up to read – or rearrange her armoire behind her maid if her upset had reached an insane level. No, the truly remarkable thing was he could hear faint humming.

Patrick stood, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and crossed to the door, listening. She hummed the song he'd sang to Mary. Placing a hand to the panel, he grinned. It was a good sign.

After he'd dismissed his valet, Patrick knocked on the door dividing their rooms.

"Come in, Patrick," came her voice.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the room, but kept the door open partway. "I didn't know if you were still upset with me."

Violet put her book aside and tilted her head at him. "I'm not upset."

Patrick nodded. She hadn't said she had not been upset previously, but Patrick did not want to press the issue. However, he did chuckle lightly and say, "My valet may not be able to save those trousers."

Rolling her eyes, Violet got up from her chaise and untied her dressing gown. "Serves you right for not knocking out your pipe properly. And close the door if you're staying."

He discerned just the faintest flick of her eyes up to him as she slid the silk off her shoulders. Detecting an air of mirth, he grinned and shut the door. "Of course I'm staying, darling. How could I ever, in my right mind, resist you when you're berating me?"

Shaking her head with a faint "pffft," Violet draped the dressing gown over the chaise and turned the lamp by her side of the bed down very low.

With a flick of his wrist, Patrick tossed his own dressing gown on top of hers and closed the distance between them, taking her in his arms and gazing at her lovingly. "I have big plans for us tomorrow, Violet," he said, tugging at the ribbon in her hair and dropping it to the floor so he could run his fingers through the auburn waves.

Violet blinked at him. "You – you do?"

Patrick laughed. "Of course I do! I know you think it ridiculous, but it's Valentine's Day! Do you honestly think I'd let the day go by without doing something special with my beloved wife?"

Lowering her lashes, Violet colored a trifle, feeling ashamed. She pressed her hands flat against this chest through his nightshirt and shook her head. "No, certainly I don't think that."

She raised her blue eyes up to his brown ones, and he smiled widely before bending his head to give her a tender kiss. "Good," Patrick murmured in her ear before he picked her up in his arms, kissing her again as he lay her on the bed. "And I won't let this day go by either," he whispered.

* * *

"Oh God, Robert," Cora panted. "That was…." Her mind groped for the appropriate words, but as she lay there, her ear over her husband's heartbeat, her body sprawled atop his, and his arms wrapped around her shoulders, she found herself at a bit of a loss. A wonderfully hazy, heady sort of loss, but a loss nonetheless.

"…amazing," Robert finished for her. "Amazing and marvelous and wonderful and thrilling and brilliant." His chest expanded, her head moving with it and then down again as he let out a thoroughly satisfied sigh.

Lifting her head, she put a fist under her chin and smiled at him. "Yes."

He returned her smile, that slightly crooked smile that she adored so well. "We still have champagne left, sweetheart. Shall we have some?"

"I think that would be good. I'm still quite warm." She giggled and carefully slid up along his body, sealing her lips to his for a few moments before getting up and pouring more champagne into their glasses. As she returned to the bedside with them, Cora noticed his smirk. She paused before coming within arm's length of the bed and raised an eyebrow. "And just what is that pleased look about?"

Robert sat up and pulled himself back against the pillows, still smirking. He lifted one of his own eyebrows. "It's about realizing – again – how incredibly fortunate I am to have married the most beautiful and remarkable woman on earth. And not just that but that she is walking my way, gloriously naked and bringing me champagne."

"Incorrigible," she muttered, shaking her head and laughing. Cora sat beside him and handed him one of the glasses, brushing her fingers through his hair at his temple. "We're both fortunate."

His expression softened, his visage settling into a look of adoration and love – and of gratitude. "We are, my darling. We are. And so I say we drink to that. Our marvelous good fortune to have one another." Robert held his glass up between them.

"To our marvelous good fortune, my love." Cora tapped her glass lightly to his before they both tipped them up, drinking, their eyes never leaving the other's face.


End file.
